The Most Logical Thing
by nexlazergirl
Summary: A young man arrives in a world of doors, with no memory of who he is, or was. Now he has to do the most logical thing to escape, and get home. Wherever that is.


Thud.

"Ow."

My eyes opened, groggily, with the pace of a newborn babe, and with the same fascination. I stared at a dark, dimly lit world that was as blinding as the sun. Sitting up with my back against the wall, it felt good to be up off of the cold, wretched floor. Peering in all directions lead me to one conclusion.

I had no bloody idea where I was.

The hallway I was in was narrow, and geometric. Aside from hallways to the left and right, all that was in front of me was a full length mirror. Which was floating.

"WHAT THE - "

Floating? No way. That crap didn't happen. The walls were just dark, that had to be it - surely I was sitting up against a wall! Turning around, stubbornly trying to prove myself right, I was proven wrong. naught but air, and as if to humiliate me, a little breeze blew across my face. I threw my hands up and pressed against the "wall". The physics were off here, I was pushing my hands against a sturdy wall of air - strong as concrete. Keen to experiment, I dragged my fingers down, and my fingers slowly cut through it, for the air was as water. Nearly non existent against my skin and still very present.

"Huh."

Making a single noise of shocked interest, I immediately moved about ten feet away from the edge of the floor. My false sense of security was gone. I hauled myself up, and walked to the mirror. Yup. There I was, clear as day, with my short brown hair, t-shirt, and ripped jeans.. though I struggled to remember my name. Striving to remember my own name was like trying to clutch smoke in your hand, and made my head ache even more. Ignoring the wave of nausea that came with not remembering yourself clearly, I decided that wherever I was, I HAD to get out, and get home. Wherever home was.

Deep in thought, I leaned against the mirror, in need of a good pseudonym to work under. A few, seemingly mundane, names came to mind - David, Tim.. Josh. It seemed to me that I should pick a name to suit my purpose. On a mission to escape this foreign zone, I dubbed the name "Quest". Feeling more human now that I had a name and something to occupy myself with, I turned away from the mirror. Looking left and right, I saw many doors. Blue doors. Brown doors. Red-and-black doors with bullet holes. One with a superman logo emblazoned on the wood; and several more with appropriate warning labels. My curiosity preceded me... I pressed my ear against a door with bullet holes and an obnoxious "BEWARE OF THE DOGS" sign on it. Not surprisingly, I could hear the loud, automatic fire of a Thompson gun, and the sound of aggravated dogs. Much more surprisingly, I heard impassioned cries in what seemed to be German, and disappointed tuts of "Lox..!" My mouth hung open in disbelief. What the hell? What, no, WHERE - was behind that door? And what about all the other doors? What place, what purgatory, was behind them?

Leaning up against a solid oxymoron, I attempted to ponder the situation, my brain saturated with the impossibility of the situation I was in. My gaze - and my thoughts along with them - were soon diverted to a small, shiny something glinting in front of one of the doors. Said door in question had the number 221b on it. The object itself was a pocket sized, leather bound notebook in red. A diary? Honestly, it seemed worthwhile to write down a short record of the things I did there. I doubt I'd ever forget a place like this, but who knows. Maybe it would inspire someone to someday write a... Nah. Flipping through its lined pages to make sure it wasn't a trap, meticulous as a villain, a little white note fluttered to the floor. It bore these words:

"Quest, To escape please do the most logical thing."

"That's it?"

These nine words were the only direction I was going to get in my odd endeavour... Oh, wow.

"This'll be fun."

I sounded as pessimistic as I felt. Snapping out of this reverie was not going to be easy, so after slipping the note and diary into my pocket, I though I might as well start small. I walked and I walked. Noises like bombs, horses, and swords emitted from their respective doors, so I looked for the least menacing one. I didn't want to die here, after all.

A simple brown door with an odd looking, but surprisingly familiar, triangular symbol adorning to door came to my attention. The closer I got to the door, the quieter the militaristic and medieval violence got. Grass. Roses.. I could smell a forest, and hear gentle music. It was an instrument I couldn't quite place. This door was inoffensive. This door was warning-sign free. Relief, and some semblance of peace washed over me.

"Here goes nothing," I thought, trying to muster up the courage, power, and wisdom to open the door.

What's behind door number one?


End file.
